


Praiseworthy

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Hotchreid - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Praise Kink, Praise Kink in Real Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry ;)





	

Over the years, Aaron Hotchner’s life had changed drastically. At a young age, he was married to his high school sweetheart, Hayley Brooks, and eventually they welcomed little Jack Hotchner into the world; neither of them could’ve been more proud.

Then a man named George Foyet changed his life forever.

He took the mother of his child, leaving him wondering if he’d ever be enough for Jack and if he’d ever find love again. Then something amazing happened.

He fell for someone else.

Someone he never expected.

When Dr. Spencer Reid started at the BAU he was only 22 years old, taken under Hotchner’s and Gideon’s wing and trained to be the profiler he was today. They’d been working together for nearly 13 years now, and for the past two years, he’d been seeing his former protege romantically. 

At first, he didn’t know how to handle his feelings for the younger doctor. He’d never expected to lose his wife and he’d never expected to be attracted to a younger man, but as it was happening he couldn’t deny it - and neither could Reid.

Neither of them had ever let the rest of the team in on the fact that they were seeing each other, but being the brilliant profilers they all were, they undoubtedly already knew. Ever since Reid had started, Hotch noticed that he liked being praised when he did good work - not that he needed the recognition, he knew what he did was always great work, but hearing it from a superior was something Hotch noticed early on. For years, he’d made a point of telling Reid when he’d done a good job, but now that they were together, that dynamic was used very differently. Not only as a reassurance of his great work, but as a tease, as a little show of togetherness when they didn’t explicitly say so. In any capacity, Reid was praiseworthy.

Without going so far as to take the younger agent in his office under the prying eyes of everyone around, Hotch made sure he told Reid through furtive glances, reassuring touches and praise that he couldn’t have been happier they were together. 

Out of habit, Reid had started picking Hotch up his morning coffee when he grabbed his own. While Reid went with a cup of coffee with more sugar than coffee, he would always be sure to bring Hotch a cup of black coffee with just the smallest splash of milk.

When he placed it on his desk, Reid would dilly-dally in the office, looking for any excuse to stay until Hotch would mutter “Good job with the coffee” along with a knowing smile.

Today was a day like any other. They were all on their way to Detroit to investigate the unique murders of two young women; at first glance, it looked like a typical “house-cleaner,” trying to wipe prostitutes out of existence, but both women were found very publicly and within a week, so they had been called in to investigate and hopefully put an end to the slaughter. 

After discussing the profile, Hotch would give his instructions for everyone, and without making it look obvious, he would pair Reid and himself together whenever he could. 

“Morgan, you go to the coroner’s office to examine the victims. Prentiss, you and JJ go to the second crime scene. Rossi, you take the first, and Reid and I will set up back at the station and begin working on the profile.” With their orders known, Reid got up to grab his second cup of coffee for the day, with Hotch following closely behind. Instead of doing what he wanted and backing the young agent into the wall to kiss him relentlessly, he settled for placing his hand at the small of his back, disguising it as the need to move through to get the jet’s bathroom.

Once they touched down, each member of the team went in the direction they were instructed, which meant that Reid and Hotch were on their way to the police station. On their way, they began to discuss the profile and as per usual Reid brought up something that Hotch hadn’t thought of - he always marveled at his boyfriend’s brain. In response, he laid his palm against Reid’s knee. “Good point,” he said, giving it a squeeze. He could tell by Reid’s face, the muscles tightening around his mouth, that he was looking for something more. He’d find a way to work it in during the way - just for him.

“Ready?” Reid asked as he hopped out of the car and ran to the opposite side to open the door for Hotch.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied, feeling the weight of so many similar cases over the years. Thank god he has someone like Reid to distract him from the savagery he saw every day. While no one was looking, he gently backed Reid into the car, and whispered ‘good boy’ against his lips. The smile that grew on Reid’s face was worth the risk of getting caught. “Now let’s go get this done.”

While everyone else was out in the field gathering information, Hotch and Reid poured over information, on occasion touching their knees together in an attempt to ensure the other one always knew how the other felt. “What about this?” Reid said, passing the pictures of the two victims to Hotch. “Both of them have the same tattoo. It’s very small and on the back of the ankle, but it’s the same one.”

Hotch glanced over the photos, noticing a small white cube on each woman’s ankle. “Could they be working for the same pimp?” Reid asked. It wasn’t uncommon for pimps to tattoo the women that worked for them - a mark of property as disgusting as it was.

“I think so,” he said, standing up to go talk to the officer in charge. They needed to see if any pimp in the area tattooed their workers with a small white cube. Upon his return, he went up behind Reid, gently squeezing his shoulders. “Good job, Reid,” he said, his head now much more in case-mode than boyfriend-mode. “The tattoo belongs to a pimp named Suga.”

“Should we go talk to him?” Reid asked, looking up at Hotch from his seat at the table.

“Definitely, let’s take the officer with us,” he said, as he opened the door, turning around just before they left with one more bit of praise, “And nice catch, Reid.”


End file.
